


The Mark of the Dragon

by hogwartshoney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartshoney/pseuds/hogwartshoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some marks can be seen; others can only be felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark of the Dragon

Draco rolls out of bed and stretches deliciously in the thin beam of early-morning sunlight that always manages to sneak through the curtains. His body aches as he shuffles sleepily into the bathroom, where, after relieving himself, he leans against the bathroom sink and takes a good look at himself in the mirror. Skin still flushed pink, hair tousled, bruises marking his chest, his abdomen, and … lower. With a wry smile, he touches his tender lips with fingers that still tremble slightly.

_Well and truly shagged._

It’s certainly not what he’d expected would happen after Charlie saved his arse in Mongolia a few months ago. He remembers how desperate he’d been then, backed into an untenable position by a dark wizard he’d been hunting, and admonishing himself for showing his hand a little too early and failing to get the stun shot. Perhaps it was the light from the hexes and curses that flew back and forth between them, or their proximity to a remote nest of dragons… but just as Draco had leaned against an outcropping of rock and tried to catch his breath, his left arm hanging useless after a well-placed hex had pierced his shields, and contemplated that he might not actually get out of his predicament, there was an enormous roar and a huge gout of flame that engulfed the area.

The dark wizard had been incinerated, his anguished screams the last thing that Draco heard before incredible heat and blissful darkness surrounded him. Mercifully, the very rocks he’d leaned against probably saved his life, although the flames had singed his hair almost off. He had awoken in almost complete darkness, fear and instinct compelling him to grab for his wand, sitting upright in a movement so swift that he hadn’t realized his arm and head were bandaged until the pain began.

He’d screamed - even now he sometimes hears the echo in his mind - but Charlie was there almost immediately, holding his hands and forcing him to drink a potion. Days passed and his wounds healed completely, although Charlie had to re-grow Draco’s hair and did a crap job of it. It’s never laid flat since.  
He’d also been pissed that Charlie had let the dragon eat his reward….

Suddenly Charlie’s reflection joins his in the mirror as his body presses firmly against Draco’s back, his insistent morning erection sliding up the curve of Draco’s arse. The gentle pull of friction as the soft cock head slides along his vertebrae does sinfully delightful things to Draco’s stomach and weakens his knees to an alarming degree, and it’s ridiculous to think that he has been reduced to such a wanton, _wanting_ creature whenever Charlie is near him.

“Merlin, Draco, _look_ at you.” The voice is roughened, from sleep, perhaps, but also from desire.

Draco leans his head back against Charlie’s chest as he reaches up and behind him, sliding his arms up and around Charlie‘s neck, putting himself on display in the mirror. “Like what you see, Weasley?”

Charlie runs his fingers along Draco‘s stomach to his hipbones, matching the tips to the bruises there. “You bruise far too easily.”

Draco shivers at the feather-light touch. “It‘s my pure blood.”

Charlie cocks his head to the side and gives Draco ‘A Look’ in the mirror, and yes, that topic shall remain under the carpet for now. A toss of his aristocratic head - the effect partially spoiled by the permanently-less-than-perfect state of his hair - is enough to change the subject, but Charlie‘s expression in the mirror is no less intense.

“Draco, if you’re going to insist on being a one-man vigilante who goes around hunting escaped dark wizards, then you’ll need some protection.”

“Honestly, Weasley, we‘ve been through this. I’m a _Malfoy;_ I don’t need protection.”

Charlie’s face is much too expressive for a dragon handler, the creases of his face far more eloquent than the possibility of words, but he is completely and refreshingly without guile. With Charlie, what you see is what you get, but despite that, Draco balks. He doesn’t want to be commanded or controlled, and by sheer force of will he prevents himself from glancing at his now-faded Mark, the physical reminder of all his past mistakes, of a loss of control that went horribly far beyond anything he could have imagined.

He shudders - can’t help it - but Charlie knows it, though; he knows what Draco is thinking. He steps back a little to give Draco room, and Draco turns within the cage of those strong arms; turns until his face and mouth are mere inches from Charlie’s.

“I’ve told you - this won’t be anything like that mark on your arm. I _am_ doing this, Draco.” Charlie shakes him for emphasis, his voice and grip firm. “No arguments.”

Draco places gentle fingers against the still-healing burn on the side of Charlie’s neck, caressing the taut, filmy pink skin softly, enjoying the thrill as Charlie shivers and his breath grows the slightest bit unsteady.

Draco _wants_.

“You know that intent carries as much power as magical ability.” Charlie’s voice is low and growly, betraying his arousal as surely as his still-impressive erection.

Draco just nods as the strong arms surround him once more, closer, and tighter, and he burns under Charlie’s intense regard; burns as surely as if Charlie were a dragon himself.

“Bed. Now.”

Charlie follows him into the bedroom and waits for Draco to lie face down on the bed, then straddles his hips, a solid weight firmly pressing on his arse and upper thighs. Draco tries not to be embarrassed by the contented sound he makes as he breathes out deeply - he feels warm and comfortable, and protected - always protected whenever Charlie is around. Charlie is just so … capable… so self-assured in an earthy way.

The mattress dips to the right as Charlie leans towards the side table and murmurs incantations that Draco only half-understands, but he knows enough to realize that Charlie is completely serious about what he intends to do.

“First one,” Charlie whispers, and the silence in the room is so absolute that Draco swears he can hear the brush dipping in the oil, the excess drops falling back into the bowl and then the warmth of the brush strokes against his skin.

Draco follows the movements with his mind. It feels like a circle with a line running through it, a shield;

_Protection_

The oil remains warm as Charlie murmurs another incantation under his breath, and Draco’s entire body is focussed on the spot where the rune sinks into his skin and entwines with his magic. Ooh, it _tingles!_

Charlie draws another rune, like an X, but joined at the top;

_Possession_

This rune, together with the shield, is repeated again and again over the points of Draco’s back, his shoulder blades, along his spine, over his sacrum, behind his knees, his ankles and the soles of his feet. Everywhere the brush and oil touch, a heat is left behind, no longer tingling, not irritating, but desperately arousing.

_Possession Protection Possession Protection Possession Protection_

Each rune melts its way onto and into Draco’s body, fuelling his desire, and he can’t help the way his hips make tiny thrusts against the mattress. Not enough to get any real friction on his cock , since Charlie’s weight is firmly atop him, but just enough to feel frustratingly good.

Finally, Charlie moves back up Draco’s body to anoint the base of his neck with the shield rune, then gentle but firm hands encourage him to turn over. He groans at the loss of pressure against his cock, and then again as Charlie straddles him again, on his upper thighs, frustratingly just out of reach.

“Close your eyes, Draco.”

But Draco doesn’t want to, for looking at Charlie is one of life’s pleasures. The absolute opposite of Draco’s lithe frame and pale skin, Charlie is powerfully built, from his nicely muscled neck, broad chest and back to his impressive shoulders, thick forearms and biceps, right down to long, strongly formed legs which even now - oh, yes - grip Draco as though he were a broom. Or a dragon.

The Chinese fireball on Charlie’s chest ruffles its scales and sends out a tendril of flame which curls around Charlie’s nipple. Certainly the magic imbued in the tattoo was enough to bond with Draco the first time that he’d been brave enough to touch Charlie’s skin, but it’s Charlie’s magic itself that calls to him.

“Close them”

“Let me see you,” he whispers as he runs his hands up Charlie’s thighs, his fingertips making aborted scratching movements, but Charlie smiles and shakes his head.

“You need to feel it.”

Reluctantly, Draco relents, and he sees the ghost of a smile tug at Charlie’s lips in the moment before he closes his eyes. He hears the soft sounds of Charlie preparing the bowl and a whispered “first one” before warmed oil is brushed at the base of his throat.

 _Possession_ and _Protection_ are written again, over Draco’s collarbones, his chest, his abdomen, his groin and down each leg, knee and foot. Draco is shaking with desire at the end of it all, biting his lip to prevent himself from ravaging Charlie and breaking the spell. Every nerve ending is acutely attuned to the runes on his skin as his magic mixes and mingles with Charlie’s. Finally, _finally_ , he hears the soft chink of the bowl being placed on a surface and nearly jumps off the bed as Charlie’s warm, oily hands slide behind his knees, urging him to bend his legs, and he does, letting them fall open, leaving himself exposed to Charlie.

He opens his eyes at Charlie’s growl, and Charlie shifts forward as he pushes at Draco’s legs, lifting them until Draco’s feet rest on his shoulders. He leans forward, heat in his eyes, and kisses Draco deeply and thoroughly, and Draco groans around the kiss as his body is almost bent in half. He can feel Charlie’s cock bumping against his arse, hot and heavy, and he reaches for Charlie’s arms, for anything to ground him in this swirl of sensation, but Charlie sits back on his heels and slowly removes Draco’s feet from where they rest on his broad shoulders.

“Hold them,” he purrs. “Spread yourself open for me.”

Heat blossoms through Draco and his cock is impossibly hard. He tries to hide his shame-thrill even as he grasps behind his knees and pulls them once more towards his chest, holding himself horribly exposed, almost mortified but incredibly aroused. Charlie murmurs in approval, his large hands against the back of Draco’s thighs, sliding down and down until his thumbs circle Draco’s hole. Charlie spreads him open with his thumbs, and Draco’s body twitches in anticipation of the thick hard cock inside, but instead, there’s more of that oil on Charlie’s fingers and another kiss as the fingers circle Draco’s pucker, warming the area with movement and oil and magic, and then Charlie slides a finger inside him, long and slow and torturous. The magic envelops him from the inside and it’s staggering how much _more_ this is, how intense it all feels. There‘s sweat behind his knees and his hands begin to slip, and he wants Charlie inside him, he wants he wants…..

Draco’s body is on fire as Charlie eases a second finger alongside the first in a _burn-pull-hurt_ that stretches him wider, then Charlie leans against Draco’s legs, pressing them against his chest, the position opening him up obscenely to anything Charlie can do to him. Wicked fingertips slide along Draco’s prostate, and then Charlie hooks those fingers inside him, rubbing firmly, and Draco loses what’s left of his mind, his orgasm exploding out of him with such force that he’s quite literally breathless. He shudders and shudders through the waves of pleasure and Charlie kisses him down from his euphoric high.

Still panting, he gently lowers his legs, grimacing slightly at the aches and feeling ridiculously pleased with the world. Charlie casts a muted cleaning spell over both of them and lies down next to Draco, pulling him onto his chest and carding his fingers through Draco’s less-than-Malfoy-perfect hair.

“Wh-where did you learn that?” Draco gasps.

“My brother Bill. He’s very-”

Draco has a hideous mental image of Charlie writhing under his brother, and despite his aches, he sits up with a horrified look.

“What??!! Great Salazar, Weasley, just how close _is_ your family?”

“No, no, not _that,_ Draco. I visited Bill in Egypt before I went to Romania and he wouldn’t let me leave without protections. He believes very strongly in the power of ancient runes and, I have to say, apart from the occasional burn,” and here his fingers touch the most recent burn scar, “I’ve been quite fortunate to escape serious injury. Perhaps it’s luck or the runes, but I’m not knocking it. His grin turns wolfish. “The sexing was purely for you.”

Draco sniffs disbelievingly, his palm caressing Charlie’s chest and stomach muscles, running down his sides and along the semi-hard cock that lies in its nest of curls, and even though Draco’s been shagged to within an inch of his life and cannot possibly move, somewhere inside him, arousal builds in a nice, slow curl.

Draco caresses the tip of Charlie’s cock with his fingers and hears him inhale softly as Draco rubs over the slit in a slow, circular motion, spreading the moisture found there.

“Gods, Charlie, I adore your cock,” he breathes, his lips brushing against the reddened tip as his body tingles in anticipation of that glorious piece of flesh inside him, “but as much as I want you to fuck me, I _need_ you in my mouth.”

Draco tells himself this is just a prelude to sex; he doesn’t want Charlie to come, not yet. He wraps his hand around the shaft and licks the tip of Charlie’s cock, running his tongue deliberately slowly around the ridges and then into the slit. Charlie jerks slightly and spreads his legs wider, and Draco settles easily between them while flattening his tongue and licking a slow broad stripe down the side of Charlie‘s cock until his nose is nestled in the rough ginger hair. He nuzzles at Charlie’s groin, rubbing his face through the wiry curls around and under the base of the cock before licking another slow broad stripe up the other side where he swirls his tongue around the tip.

“I could suck your cock for hours,” he murmurs into the heated flesh.

A husky groan is the only reply, and Draco smiles, running the edges of his teeth against the sensitive glans and earning a hiss of pleasure-pain. He cups Charlie’s balls in one hand while taking as much cock into his mouth as possible, lowering his head and relaxing his jaw until he feels the tip pushing against the back of his throat. Draco wants to prolong this and keep Charlie on this knife-edge of orgasm, but another groan from Charlie, louder and with an edge of pleading desperation has him drawing back his head just a little while pushing up against the underside of Charlie’s cock with the tip of his tongue in a series of short flicking movements that never fails to bring him off.

Then Charlie’s thighs grip Draco’s shoulders and his hands are fisted in Draco’s hair and he comes with a hoarse shout, his entire body shaking as Draco swallows it all down, on and on, over and over until Charlie is twisting and pushing him away with a laugh, his cock too sensitive to take any more. Draco pretends to go after him, to continue with the torment, but Charlie catches his hands and then they’re both laughing breathlessly, arms and legs tangled in a ridiculous mess. Charlie wrestle-pulls Draco on top of him while Draco only pretends to try to get away but really all he wants is more, more of this, more of this type of perfection that is so unlike what he thought his life would contain. Draco is happier than he’s ever known and as he looks down on Charlie’s smiling face suddenly everything clicks, and this, _this_ is what he’s wanted, this understanding and empathy and _acceptance_ of him by another person, and he’s struck by how significant this seemingly insignificant moment actually is.

He mock-wrestle-struggles away, but not far, just enough that he can reach the bowl of oil that’s still on the side table. He dips his fingertips into the lukewarm liquid and beneath him, Charlie stills, the expression on his face easy and open, the smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth, and, just like that, Draco knows.

He reaches out to Charlie, who catches his wrist for a moment, and suddenly everything is very serious and heavy and important, but not frighteningly so. Their eyes meet, and Draco knows that Charlie understands him, even if they’ve not said a word. Perhaps it’s the magic of the protective runes which still feel warm on Draco’s skin, or perhaps it’s the natural progression of things, all leading up to this moment, but as Draco draws his own runes of protection and possession in oil on Charlie’s chest, over his heart and right next to the dragon, Draco feels a definite spark of magic, the completing of a circle, the meshing of a whole.

He might go back to hunting dark wizards, but he’s come to realize that he no longer feels compelled to redeem the family name. Draco suspects that Charlie would like him to stay, and Draco himself suspects that it mightn’t be such a bad idea.

~*fin*~


End file.
